“My lawyer will hold them in a secure vault,” I said. “As long as you do not contest the custody, they stay there.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I hand them to the prosecutor tonight,” I said. “And your sentence will double.”

He picked up the pen.

His hand was shaking so badly he almost dropped it.

“You are a cold woman, Ines,” he said.

“I am a mother,” I said. “And I am a lawyer who knows exactly what you are.”

He pulled the folder toward him.

He flipped to the signature page, his eyes scanning the legal language.

“This leaves me with nothing,” he said. “No visitation. No decision-making power.”

“That is the point,” I said.

“They will grow up hating me,” he said.

“They will grow up knowing the truth,” I said.

He lowered the pen to the paper.

Before the nib could touch the white page, the phone on the desk lit up again.

It was not Matthew this time.

The screen showed an unknown number from Barcelona.

We both looked at it.

The phone vibrated against the wood, making a dull, buzzing sound.